can you give me some advice? i always know exactly what i want to write for a cold opening/inciting incident and exactly what i want to write for an ending, but everything in between i just have no good ideas and have rewritten no less than forty times. any advice for coming up with a beginning and middle? i’m dying.
You're at a great point, to be honest - having the ending figured out is half the battle right there. For the rest of it, there's two pathways to consider
The Big Turning Points in the External Plot:
The Beginning - This is your world before, where you establish the status quo. You'll also establish what needs changing (an evil empire, a toxic relationship, facing the first day of school). The important thing to think about here is whatever you want the ending to resolve or confront will have its establishing roots in the beginning. If the main character ends with leaving his abusive home and finding comfort in friends and therapy, then we need to firmly establish that home in the beginning.
The Inciting Event - While this is where things change, it's merely the jumpstart of the change. The important thing to know is there's no path back to before the inciting event happens (joined the rebellion, slapped the abusive ex, passed out in front of your fifth grade class). The only path for the main character to take is forward.
The Middle (or Mid-Climax) - Your character seemingly finds the solution to their problem, but it backfires/makes things worse/leads to a bigger problem (saving the princess means the Death Star is tracking you down, leaving the state means your ex will ruin your reputation, the rush to get with the cool kids deeply hurts your best friend). One of the better ways of thinking about this is your character has been circling around how to fix their problem with solutions that don't work, and after the middle will have to turn down the path of finding what will.
The Climax - The big end fight, etc. We resolve the external plot (we blow up the Death Star!) because we've faced an internal crisis and beat it (believed in ourselves/the force). Or... this is a tragedy and the reverse happens. Either way, potential is realized, grasped, or lost.
The Ending - I think when you said you had an ending you might be thinking of the climax, but what I mean by ending here is just Wrapping Things Up. It's the final shot of the movie, it's the last chapter in finding out where our characters end up. It's the epilogue or sequel bait. Basically, you'll give your readers one last emotional ping to send them off on.
Now, it's easy to put those cards together, but how do you actually use them? I want you to switch gears and think about your story from a character standpoint. You have where your characters ended up - now what did they need to do to get there?
The Big Turning Points of the Internal Plot:
The Need for Change - The beginning is where you'll introduce your characters, their wants and needs, and establish what they need to accomplish even if they don't know it yet. Luke Skywalker is restless on his farm while the galaxy goes very wrong around him. We know what's wrong and what will need changed, even if he doesn't yet.
The No Return - The inciting event will yank your main character into your main plotline. Whatever happens will force them forward no matter how much they want to go back. A traumatic event, a witnessed attack, something that they can't run from, even if they try. Mirabel witnesses the house starting to fall about in Encanto. Even when no one else sees it or believes her, she knows she can't pretend it didn't happen.
The False Victory/Defeat - The path to the middle is best described as "the wrong way" in my book. The main character tries to fix the problem, but because they won't confront their own flaws or fears, they bungle it. They seek out someone else to solve the problem, or invest in the easy way out, and it doesn't work (or creates a bigger problem). The false victory is when things should have worked, but didn't. The false defeat is when things go badly wrong - but the main characters double down to fix it regardless.
The Road to the Climax - If your characters have been trying to fix things the wrong way in the first half of the book, the second is about fixing things the right way. Confronting fears, facing painful realizations, breaking out of toxic relationship - this part of the book will give your characters the tools they need to face the climax.
Weave these two together and you'll be able to find your footing. Get stuck in an action point (external plot), think about how it's affecting your character points (internal plot). If you already have an ending, sometimes the easiest thing to do is to work backwards. Good luck!
It started off small, this sharp little seed inside her. It found a home, drilled between stomach and spleen, slick with viscera and so deep she could never have hoped to draw it out again.
At least, this is what she tells herself.
Like all seeds, it required water, and nurturing, and space to grow. She fed it first with the blood bitten from her lips at the sight of a beautiful friend's love-dumb smile; her bitter tears dripped through its roots, insidious, and showed them where to take hold.
Like all wicked things, this one warranted a name. She termed it Ambition.
It grew leaves, to begin with, lush and shiny. In the summers, when the light was full and thick, falling across the satin and taffeta of her party frocks- when gold filtered through glasses of champagne and all eyes glinted her way- it bloomed. But summer cannot last forever, and those flowers were delicate. They shriveled small when the basking-light of attention and, yes, affection, faded.
The plant itself, though, was evergreen. It weathered the storms of her rages, wove carefully over shattered mirrors and windblown, empty halls. It waited for spring to return but, by the change in seasons, it had grown too thickset and tall, squatting over her guts and twisting up into her lungs, for the light that fell upon it to be enough. It needed, she realised, much more.
With every day this thing inside her suffered, weak and needy, she suffered in kind. Her skin grew pale and ashen. She appeared at the beautiful, extravagant events her peers liked to throw, her glad rags padded over the ribs, and smiled- but that smile was thready and undernourished. She watched radiance dance over others, its brilliant spotlight flowing like water over their skin, and she hungered. She longed to lunge across the vintage parquet and rip the flesh from them, clutch it about herself; she ached to wear their light.
It didn't take much. Words dripped silkily into the right ears, like the poison of the plant's rotting leaves that sank through her belly: an email there with wooden fingers, a prudent, pruning snub here. Mere topiary, she told herself, gripping the edge of the sink and staring at herself with eyes hard as wood. Deadheading. Removal of a shading tree over a garden.
Light quickly fell upon her again. Warmth graced her blood, her body. Her laughter was no longer the whip-crack of a snapping branch, but true and genuine, sweet as honey. When she swept into a room, the wind changed. The clouds parted. All the best and brightest- there to see her, of course- flocked close, their voices humming at fever pitch around her like the buzzing of bees. They sipped at her nectar, reverent, and on the fringes of her brilliance grew other flowers. Smaller, of course. None as beautiful and perfect as her own. Occasionally, a root snaked too close for comfort, or a stamen attracted one pollinator too many…
For the health, she reminded herself, of the garden.
Thickened stems and vines grew around her throat and through her bloodstream, now, pressing emerald fingers into her bones. At some time, long ago, this thing could have been cut away. A scalpel could have removed its tight black seed; more careful excision might have been required once it took root, and she would have bled, but such a thing could have been done. Bruises would have risen, blue and purple on her skin, but they would have yellowed and faded in time. Now, it chokes off kindly words even as they rise, only permitting through those that will bring nourishment to its leaves and roots. To bring a blade close to its infiltrating nodules would be to slit her very throat.
When she coughs, she coughs up green. In her dressing-room, as she prepares to smile benevolently at the crowds, she dusts powder over the shoots beginning to pry their way through her skin. Her legs ache and cramp from the network of thready white roots arcing through bellies of muscle- a cane, prettily made, takes good care of that. She sits only when she must, determined to avoid any accusation of infirmity, and pleads the vague, highborn excuse of an old horseriding injury.
Still, she can wield a set of secateurs with the best of them. She can pace a room and spot the weeds, growing thick and fast: she is ruthless against aphids and dandelions alike. All are removed before a drop of sun can grace their upturned leaves.
She looks in the mirror no longer. When her heart beats, it pulses against a shell of bark and a casing of vines, and feels nothing.
Despite her thin skin and the verdant sheen increasingly evident beneath, no thorn may touch her. When her cane taps its way out onto the marbled mezzanine atop the spiral stairway of her grand home- grown all the grander over the years- whispers stop and people stare, faces turning like sunflowers. If anybody sees the supportive hand on her elbow, the labour of her breath or the empty blue-white of her eyes, they dare not mention it.
Still. There is more to be done. Word reaches her ears of gardens across the world- bordered with palm trees, or carpeted with something lovely and colourbright, the likes of which none have seen before- and off she flies with poison in her pocket. She brings back cuttings, of course.
What am I missing? She whispers to herself.
The roots have grown through her feet. For the first time in her life, she is trapped still.
What could anyone have that I do not?
There is so much light. But it is not enough. Worse still, she cannot even see it anymore.
Her heart spasms, sluggish, inside its carry-case. Her lungs crackle with leaves.
There is more. Always more. All I have to do is find it.
Vivid green turning brown. An insidious creeping working its way down. Down. Withering with time. A slow, painful process that I cannot stop no matter how hard I try. Too much water or too little? The wrong soil? Too cold? Not enough sunlight coming in through the window? It’s like a puzzle I cannot solve. Pieces are missing and there’s no picture on the box.
So I watch with despair as another leaf drifts down. Taking one more step on life’s path. Heading straight for the dark.
The sun sets in the window behind, lighting up the sky—a brief moment of euphoria before fading beyond the horizon.
And when it’s dark, I wonder if that’s how life feels for something so young and tender while dying. I hope it enjoyed its brief life. I hope it revelled in the sunlight, savoured the water, felt at home in the soil, and soaked up the love I tried to offer.
And as night settles around us, I hope it takes those warm memories with it into the darkness.
Tuesday morning at the museum, I spotted a robot standing next to the restroom entrance. At first, I thought it was guarding the restroom, but there were no security detail markings on its body. As I approached the restoom, however, the robot locked its digital eyes with me.
"Excuse me," it said, "Could you help me get into the restroom?"
The request gave me pause, and I stood stunned a few metres from the door.
"I can't access it, you see," it said, and turned to the handprint panel next to the restroom door. It placed its hand on the panel and pressed against it, but the panel made no reaction whatsoever.
I'm typically not one to be afraid of robots, unlike a lot of other people, but this unusual situation did make me wary. I considered backtracking and calling security, but the robots benign tone of voice also made me think that perhaps I needed to talk to it myself.
"It's there to keep you out," I said in a low voice.
The robot released its hand from the panel and nodded deeply, as if it were trying to bow before it changed its mind.
"I understand," it said, "but I would still like to see what it looks like inside."
"You're a robot, you don't need the restroom."
"That is incorrect. I would like to see what it looks like inside. I would like the sensory information of what it is like to be in a restroom."
As a frown grew on my brows, I considered pressing the panel and entering in without a care for this stupid robot. If I did so, however, and the robot slipped in without my realising it, it would be my fault for letting it in.
I really needed to go.
"Please, you will help me?"
"No!" I said, more emphatically than I intended. "You have cameras and network access and stuff. You could be recording inside and streaming it to an audience. There's very good reasons why robots aren't allowed in, you know."
The robot stood silent for several moments, and I started to feel bad for what I had said. Perhaps I had been too rude, but a robot is a robot, and it has no business being in a museum restroom.
"Look," I said, my tone becoming more reconciliatory, "You need to get your bug fixed. Whatever it is. You shouldn't want to enter a public restroom. There's no information, no data in there, that's worth it."
I couldn't hold it in much more, so I stepped ahead, pressed the panel, and entered. A few steps in, I looked behind me, but the robot wasn't even visible through the door frame, let alone inside the restroom.
Once I was done and leaving the restroom, I found the robot in one of the museum corridors, staring at a painting from four centuries ago. I still felt bad for being rude to it, so I hailed it and walked up to it.
"I'm sorry for what I said," I began, "I was rude to you, and I apologise."
The robot turned to me and did its nod-bow again, then glanced at the painting it had been looking at. "No, I think you were right. I thank you. I have processed what you said, and I too think that there is no information and no data in there that is worth it. That is true for all data and information, too."
With that, it crossed the stanchions keeping viewers away from the painting, ripped the painting from its wall, and tore it apart.
‘Have you tried speeding up?’ I snapped back too quickly. I bit my tongue. The Great Monk stared at me steady, with his deep, knowing eyes.
‘Ambition is a strength, but it must be contained. Too much of it and it overflows into greed and selfishness.’
I seethed and turned away. ‘What would you know?’ I muttered under my breath.
The monk narrowed his eyes. He took his staff and used it to touch my chin, raising my face to meet his.
‘Be careful, young one. You cannot let this mindset ruin you.’
I didn’t back down from his gaze. I stared at the old man, fire burning inside me.
‘Ruin me?’ I laughed but it was cold in my heart. ‘It’s the only thing saving me.’
‘It was the reason you were not chosen in yesterday’s ceremony.’
‘No, you were the reason I wasn’t chosen.’
‘You must learn to slow down, to hold what live gives you and then let it go.’
‘You think me reckless and rash. But there’s a difference between acting out and going after what I want.’ Sadness appeared in his eyes and that made rage flare inside me. ‘You won’t stop me,’ I cried. I clenched my fists on my lap and looked down. Angry at myself. Angry at how he let the silence grow and stretch around us.
‘I fear that outcome,’ he said, his voice brimming with pity. ‘Not for what it will mean for me—’ once again he used his staff to raise my eyes to his ‘—but what it will mean for you.’
He withdrew his staff and, where the warm wood had touched me, coldness appeared. It spread down my chest.
‘Go seek your master,’ he said, his voice hard and so unlike it was moments before. ‘You will meditate until the moon is full once more.’
I drew myself to my feet. He was still knelt before me.
‘One day you’ll give me that staff,’ I said.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I hope so.’ I turned to leave. ‘I would rather give it willingly than have you prise it from my dead body.’
One of my favorite exercises of all time I call "bucket of words." I am 100% positive there are other iterations of it with better names, but here's how you do it:
Write a character taking an action.
Add 1 object description
Add 1 setting description
Add internal feeling (does not need to be related to action)
Add physical manifestation of feeling (ie sweating, shaking, smiling, etc)
Add setting atmosphere (this MUST be impacted by internal feeling so if your character is scared, atmosphere must be threatening vibes)
Add internal monologue, at least one sentence
Add 1 setting or object description (your choice)
Complete with sentence fragment, ideally either the completion of initial action or a repetition of action sentence.
((Important to note that these do not need to all be separate sentences))
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed as tall as her hip.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call. Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call. Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss. Serena folded the laundry.
Quick edited version:
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat squatly next to the bed, as tall as her hip. Resentfully, she snapped out the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - so hard it cracked like a whip. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. Her lip curled as she reached for a pair of aqua leggings. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. I asked them to call when it ended. If they cared... Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss. She felt the weight of the empty house compacting her ribs, shoving her underneath her own skin, down and down and down. As if from a distance, she saw her arm, skin still pink from healing, reach for a red undershirt. Another load sat in the dryer waiting.
We had been walking down the street when I saw it. Or rather I saw her.
I saw who she really was.
The streets were dark and glistening with a gentle drizzle, the sort that makes everything wet without making a sound. Lights reflected and refracted off the glistening pavement. And when we turned the corner, she stepped into the deep red light of the billboard shining above. Her blond hair turned to flowing red ink and her skin, a deep dark crimson. And I knew, immediately, who she was.
Everyone knows the Crimson Crane. A villain, a hero, a household name. She is loved and she is hated. You may disagree with her methods, you may want her to be nicer, more peaceful, not so intense, more diplomatic. But when you’re protecting the world from those that would destroy it for profit, there’s no more effective way to show them how to care for humanity.
And yeah, sure, allegedly she may have caused the death of a few people. (The ‘crimson’ in her name isn’t just from her outfit). But they were a small price to pay for the peace that fell after.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks, tilting her head in that way that she does when talking to the cameras. Her eyes narrowed and a hint of a smirk. As if she knows something you don’t.
She holds out her hand, fingers long and slender, dangerous and oh so tempting.
‘I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,’ she whispers. It sends shivers down my spine. ‘I hope you’re not angry?’
I smile. Angry. I would never be angry. I take her hand and let her pull me under the red light. I would follow her and her crimson trail into the deepest depths of hell.
(Just a heads up, this piece is very vague in its topic, but is about not being accepted)
You stand next to me but the space inbetween reaches infinitely into the expanse of what could or "should" be. You look me up and down and wonder where you went wrong. You who birthed me, who raised me, made me feel loved and so strong. Now nothing but broken pieces lie before us. Fixable, but only if you pick up the shards. But you don't. You won't. Instead you expect me to remake them into what you think I should be, not caring that the pieces don't fit properly. I scream in my head for you to repeat what you'd said when I was five and got hurt by the kids on the street who bit and scratched with their words and their hands, for you to hold me and comfort me and tell me I'm strong and so brave...
I raise my gaze to meet yours. Your eyes. Your eyes, they make me cold and full of dread. They speak far louder than all the words left unsaid.
‘Only one day more until you’re the most beautiful bride in the country,’ my mother says happily as she watches the new maidservant lace up my dress. ‘And to such a handsome man too. Aren’t you overjoyed?’
‘Of course, mother,’ I say. ‘It truly is a splendid match you’ve made.’ I speak no lies, for it is a good match, but mother does not hear the lack of enthusiasm in my tone. ‘Did cook make those lemon squares? You know they are his favourite.’
Mother frowns. ‘I am certain I told her. I’ll go check just to be sure. Make sure you’re downstairs in a timely manner. They will be here within the hour!’ And with a flurry of skirts she heads off down the hall.
I sigh and let my face fall.
‘She is a good mother…’ I trail off.
The maidservant gestures me towards the vanity table and begins pinning my hair into place.
‘She means well, but she does not understand my lady’s heart.’
I catch her gaze in the mirror. She immediately blushes and lowers her gaze. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to speak out of turn.’
‘No, it’s quite all right,’ I say, once I’ve gotten over the shock of her words. ‘You are correct after all, she does not understand my heart.’ I soften. ‘But all things considered, she has done well. He is a good match. He is well-read, and enjoys long walks in the country, just as I do. He is kind and has thoughtfully designed space for me in the new house. Not to mention he has money and is not bad looking either, but then everyone likes money and good looks.’ We share a giggle at that. ‘By all accounts, he should be perfect for me.’
I fall silent.
The maidservant finishes with my hair. I admire it in the mirror.
‘You look beautiful, my lady,’ she says. Then, softly, ‘Just because he should be perfect for you, doesn’t mean he is.’
I catch her gaze again and this time she does not look away. Her eyes are the deepest brown, and they catch my heart.
‘What is your name?’
‘Clara, my lady.’
I stand up to appraise her fully. ‘Clara,’ I say slowly. ‘You have done wonders with my appearance.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’ She begins to curtsey.
‘But,’ I interrupt and she raises her head hesitantly. ‘You would be wise to not always speak your mind.’
She blushes again and deepens her curtsey.
‘Oh, do rise,’ I gesture at her to stand up and I make her meet my eyes. ‘I look forward to making better acquaintance with you, and maybe then, we could be more honest with each other.’
Her eyes widen and I smile, warmth spreading through my chest.
‘I look forward to it, my lady.’
~~~~~
written for @flashfictionfridayofficial FFF304 - One Day More
Soft dawn light shone broke through the forest, slanted rays glistened in the middle of the clearing. Birds chirped overhead, bugs buzzed in the grass, dust motes drifted lazily in the light’s rays. All circling the pond that lay so perfect in the middle.
A butterfly danced over the water, skimming the surface, before briefly getting sucked under. It reappeared and fluttered over to a nearby blade of grass.
Olga cocked her gun.
The butterfly launched into the air and fluttered into the trees.
It was go time.
She dropped her half eaten apple on the floor and gestured at her soldiers.
Five masked figures stepped out from behind the trees. They fanned out, footsteps quiet, until they surrounded the pond. All guns trained at the middle. And they waited.
A ripple broke across the surface. They all tensed, fingers poised above triggers.
A box appeared. As if from the depths of the pond. Just bobbing on the surface. A small metal container not unlike the ones they carried their food rations in. In fact, Olga squinted, it looked exactly like the ones they carried their food rations in.
She gestured at one of her men. He stepped into the clearing and leaned over the pond, prodding the box with the tip of his gun. It started drifting in the other direction. Nothing happened. He fished it out and lay it on the grass.
They all stepped forward to look at it.
‘It has your name on it, Ma’am,’ the soldier said.
She squatted next to the tin and poked it with her gun, spinning it to reveal her name, once neatly engraved but now covered in scratches, on the side.
She hesitated. Then flipped the lid open.
They all stared over her shoulder into the box.
‘What does it mean?’ one of her soldiers asked.
Olga reached down. Out of the box she pulled an apple. She spun it in her hands to reveal an eerily similar bite taken out of it. She glanced at the direction they had come from.
‘It means those scientists might be telling the truth.’
All of her men froze in shock. They were all well trained, the best of the best. But none of them were prepared for this.
‘A parallel universe,’ one of them murmured. ‘That’s insane.’
Flash Fiction Friday is a fun writer event that’s meant to inspire, share and connect writings of all genres and writers of all ages. It’s designed to make people want to write, especially if they’re feeling blocked. Everyone and everything is welcome!
We always do our very best to keep the prompt’s genre open, entertaining, positive and encouraging.
Write between 100-1000 words. It can be any genre, in any text format and 18+ is fine by us, just please tag accordingly.
Use this Friday’s theme in your text. Any way you see fit.
Post on your tumblr blog and remember to tag us at @flashfictionfridayofficial!! So we’ll see it, read it and reblog it!!
Deadline is 24 hours after the prompt has been issued (12 pm CET).
And then, next Friday, we’ll mention your work in a showcase post on our main blog before our next prompt drops.
Please post your entries as regular posts, not screenshots — or provide the text as a regular post as well. Let’s keep everything as accessible as possible!
We ask you to tag your works with any appropriate content warnings and let the reader know what they’ll find before they get the chance to read your work!
If you have a question, check out our FAQ page! If your question isn’t on there, don’t hesitate to ask!
You don’t need to ask for permission or need to get added to a list to join in. Just write, have fun and don’t forget to tag us!
We do not condone fiction, asks or comments that contain: direct hostility, unconstructive critique, LGBTQIA+ hate, slurs, racism and/or general no-no behaviors.
If you want to be closer to the epicenter, you can come chat on our open discord: https://discord.gg/rUWCE8a
✨ We also introduced our very own Wishing Well, a place for you to whisper your prompt suggestions into. And we’ll listen! Check everything about it out HERE.
✨All your amazing works from last week can be found HERE.
Go check them out and consider supporting your fellow FFF writers with some likes and reblogs!
✨ And now, the new prompt!
[#FFF 303 Out Of The Box]
What unexpected things have happened? Something jumping out of left field all of a sudden? Or perhaps what has reared it's head out of the box? Was it old? Stored? Locked away? Something new? A mysterious delivery? Sealed or unsealed? What importance does it hold? Or maybe it isn't even what was inside or not to be let it but rather that box itself that held all important and clues! What beguiling ideas await you're creativity? Let us know! Now go, go, go!!!
I befriend a murder of crows, who promptly begin bringing me stars. I don’t understand, I thought they had all been destroyed. The night sky above us has been black for centuries.
hey do you have any tips on plot development? how to do come up with relevant but dramatic things to keep the plot going? i also don’t want to make it too intense?
I actually have quite a lot of resources that I’ve created over the years surrounding plot development. I’ve linked as many as I could find for you:
Flash Fiction Friday is a fun writer event that’s meant to inspire, share and connect writings of all genres and writers of all ages. It’s designed to make people want to write, especially if they’re feeling blocked. Everyone and everything is welcome!
We always do our very best to keep the prompt’s genre open, entertaining, positive and encouraging.
Write between 100-1000 words. It can be any genre, in any text format and 18+ is fine by us, just please tag accordingly.
Use this Friday’s theme in your text. Any way you see fit.
Post on your tumblr blog and remember to tag us at @flashfictionfridayofficial!! So we’ll see it, read it and reblog it!!
Deadline is 24 hours after the prompt has been issued (12 pm CET).
And then, next Friday, we’ll mention your work in a showcase post on our main blog before our next prompt drops.
Please post your entries as regular posts, not screenshots — or provide the text as a regular post as well. Let’s keep everything as accessible as possible!
We ask you to tag your works with any appropriate content warnings and let the reader know what they’ll find before they get the chance to read your work!
If you have a question, check out our FAQ page! If your question isn’t on there, don’t hesitate to ask!
You don’t need to ask for permission or need to get added to a list to join in. Just write, have fun and don’t forget to tag us!
We do not condone fiction, asks or comments that contain: direct hostility, unconstructive critique, LGBTQIA+ hate, slurs, racism and/or general no-no behaviors.
If you want to be closer to the epicenter, you can come chat on our open discord: https://discord.gg/rUWCE8a
✨ We also introduced our very own Wishing Well, a place for you to whisper your prompt suggestions into. And we’ll listen! Check everything about it out HERE.
✨All your amazing works from last week can be found HERE.
Go check them out and consider supporting your fellow FFF writers with some likes and reblogs!
✨ And now, the new prompt!
[#FFF293 Unbridled Rage]
Emotions running high! Anger sweeping through! Defeat, jealously or perhaps despair being the roots? What's caused this rage? A gross injustice being inflicted, the world being brought to the edge of destruction, or simply an annoying coworker? Get writing and let us know! Let that creativity flow!!
one of my worst writing sins is abusing my power to create compound words. i cannot write the sentence "The sun shone as bright as honey that afternoon." no. that's boring. "The sun was honey-bright that afternoon" however? yes. that sentence is dope as fuck. i do not care if "honey-bright" is a word in the english dictionary. i do not care if the sentence is grammatically correct. i will not change. i will not correct my erred ways. the laws of the english language are mine.
I told myself I would answer every prompt for @flashfictionfridayofficial at the beginning of 2024 and I did it! A year, 52 short stories and poems, and 20,614 words later here I am with a master list to all my works! See you in the next one everybody and a Happy New Year~
Date: January 5th
Prompt: How It Ends
Title: Does It?
Date: January 12th
Prompt: Little Pink Houses
Title: Careless Childhood & Candy
Date: January 19th
Prompt: Fight or Flight
Title: Futile
Date: January 26th
Prompt: A Fool’s Quest
Title: Against All Odds
Date: February 2nd
Prompt: Take My Hand
Title: Detonation
Date: February 9th
Prompt: Seal It Tight
Title: Bottled Up
Date: February 16th
Prompt: Broken Moonlight
Title: Lunation
Date: February 23rd
Prompt: Hour of Denial
Title: Diurnal Curse
Date: March 1st
Prompt: Soaring Above
Title: Surging Below
Date: March 8th
Prompt: Glitter and Blues
Title: A Sad Superstition
Date: March 15th
Prompt: Critical Ice Cream
Title: Bite Me!
Date: March 22nd
Prompt: You Never Cared
Title: The Disregard
Date: March 29th
Prompt: Pinprick
Title: No More Bark
Date: April 5th
Prompt: Blind Spot
Title: Back-room Breakdown
Date: April 12th
Prompt: Watching Birds
Title: Opportunity
Date: April 19th
Prompt: Open Your Eyes
Title: Face It
Date: April 26th
Prompt: Rushing Train
Title: Listen to the Whistle
Date: May 3rd
Prompt: Out There
Title: Unknown Dark Matter & Light Years Change
Date: May 10th
Prompt: Spill The Tea
Title: Leave No Stains
Date: May 17th
Prompt: Pushing Up Daisies
Title: Schrodinger’s World
Date: May 24th
Prompt: Horizon Line
Title: Escape Velocity
Date: May 31st
Prompt: In The Heart
Title: The Empty Chest
Date: June 7th
Prompt: Muted Colors
Title: Ends of a Ragged Dress
Date: June 14th
Prompt: Count The Days
Title: Imaginary Numbers
Date: June 21st
Prompt: Milky Way Dreams
Title: Offing
Date: June 28th
Prompt: House of Cards
Title: No Support
Date: July 5th
Prompt: Fear is a Sickness
Title: Sciophobia
Date: July 12th
Prompt: Maybe One More
Title: Hubris Ascends & Humanity Absconds
Date: July 19th
Prompt: Run Far And Fast
Title: Tactical Retreat
Date: July 26th
Prompt: In The Meadows
Title: Touch
Date: August 2nd
Prompt: Counting Clocks
Title: Time To Lose
Date: August 9th
Prompt: Galaxies Away
Title: Be The Dream
Date: August 16th
Prompt: Great Expectations
Title: Bo The Unclear
Date: August 23rd
Prompt: Gifted Violets
Title: Remembrance
Date: August 30th
Prompt: Fractured Forms
Title: No Remedy
Date: September 6th
Prompt: Living Weapon
Title: Killer to Some & Guardian Angel to Who Matter Most
